


The Amber Bottle

by Bubblegumlocks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:46:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2546393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubblegumlocks/pseuds/Bubblegumlocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in 2006.  Snape is drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Amber Bottle

His eyes watched a spider. He watched as it slowly, meticulously spun and wove its web in the corner of the window. The window that looked out at the Forbidden Forest, the window that was showing nothing but dark.

His eyes slid over the grain of the windowsill, over the empty bottles that once stored all manners of potions, over the dusty bookshelves, now empty, until they came to rest at the back of the room. He sighed and looked at his classroom. It was dark, it was dingy, it was dusty, and he was _alone_.

He looked down at his hands. They had small scars spattered like freckles, burns from potion accidents, cuts from sharp knives. They were lined and he felt old, older than he had felt months ago, when he watched his closest, _only_ , friend and mentor fall. _At his own old hands_.

He watched his old hands as they grabbed a nearby bottle. His long, once graceful, fingers wrapped slowly around the neck of the amber bottle and he poured some of the contents into a goblet. He stared at his drink, watched it. He sighed again, took a long look at his empty classroom and drank.

~*~

The amber bottle refilled itself and soon enough, he had forgone transferring its contents into his goblet. Soon enough he was pushing his hair out of his face and watching closely as he tipped the bottle back. He drank, drank until the classroom blurred, drank until the spider scurried away, drank until he dropped the bottle. It did not break, but merely rolled across the floor until it hit a pair of scuffed trainers and too-big trousers dragging the ground.

He watched the bottle roll, then watched as a shaggy head bent down to pick it up. The dark blur walked closer to where he was sitting and set the amber bottle, its contents swirling madly, on the table where his old hands were resting.

He looked up as the dark blur, boy, no _man_ , with glasses came closer, finally sitting on the table. He started to protest about cleanliness and potions and respect but one pale finger was pushed against his lips.

He swallowed and the glasses came closer.

“Potter?” he slurred, reaching for the bottle.

Potter was too quick for his slow lurch and pulled it away from him. He was surprised when Potter took a drink himself, his lips touching the bottle where he himself had touched. He swallowed along with Potter, reflexively, still watching his lips. Finally Potter placed the bottle back on the table and grinned.

“What would Lily say?” he mumbled, reaching for the amber bottle again.

He didn’t notice Potter’s slight jump or the odd look he was receiving. He just grasped the bottle again, drank deeply and returned it to the table.

He looked up to find Potter staring at him. He started to speak again, but was interrupted not by a finger, but by soft lips and glasses bumping against his nose. He inhaled sharply when a tongue touched his lower lip briefly. He tried to pull away but Potter’s hand flew and clasped the back of his neck possessively. He yelped at the contact and was rewarded with an insistent tongue. He relaxed and kissed hesitantly back.

His eyes closed as the kiss deepened and he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this way. Was it years or just days ago that he had last felt Potter’s lips on his own? Thoughts were jumbled the longer he was kissed and the longer he though. He could remember feeling old, but the pressure against his lips and now against his thigh was all too familiar. Finally thoughts faded when a hand snaked under his robes and he was tentatively touched.

He growled at the contact and stood up abruptly. He removed Potter’s glasses, throwing them to the side of the room. He reached for the amber bottle and threw it to join the glasses. He pushed Potter until he was on his back on the well-used table, forgetting his earlier protests. He straddled Potter, kissing and then brandishing his wand.

He recited familiar spells and felt the usual tremble of anticipation from Potter. He rubbed his hands down Potter’s familiar, now naked, chest until Potter gasped in his mouth. He felt himself harden and quickly leaned until he felt Potter’s warm, heavy weight against his own.

Potter kissed him, his tongue exploring the regions of his mouth like it had never been there before. He kissed back thoroughly and they both forgot their nakedness and the coolness of the room. Potter bucked off the table, into his hands and they both gasped. He took them both in one hand and began to stroke a slow steady rhythm.

Potter whimpered and he smiled, bending awkwardly to flick his tongue against a nipple. Potter gasped again and they both breathed harder. Potter came with a silent scream against his shoulder, and one short kiss was enough for him to fall off the edge.

They rested against each other until he stood up. He found his wand and sent their clothes flying back on. Potter watched him, uneasy. He sat up on the table, reached over and kissed him again.

Potter stood up, stood by the table and watched him sit down again. Potter leaned over for another short kiss and his gasped, his eyes wide. He pointed at Potter’s forehead, reached out and touched the pink scar. He stood up abruptly.

“Potter?” he whispered.

Potter nodded again.

“James Potter?”

Potter stared, then shook his head sadly. “Harry, sir.”

He gasped and sat down, hands threading through his hair. He blinked and stared at the table. He heard Potter, _Harry_ , leave the room. He summoned the amber bottle from the corner and drank again.

He stared at the bottle, his old hand wrapped around it and he shuddered. His old hand that had been wrapped around young Potter’s cock. Harry, so much like his father. He stared at the bottle, at his old scarred hands.

His eyes moved to the table. Here, on this table, despite his protests. This table, he remembered Potter before Lily, before things had become too complicated and he had become too old. He felt the ridges of the table and knew young Potter, _Harry_ , would have marks on his back.

He stared across the room and absently swirled the contents of the amber bottle.


End file.
